Waking From a Nightmare
by Iscah McKrae
Summary: He's been living in a nightmare his whole life. He keeps running from it, and it keeps catching up with him. Now that he's run all the way across the country, can he finally wake up?  Part of BOTH "Pay the Piper" AND "EverFixed Mark" storyverses.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: At least for the present, this story fits neatly inside BOTH of my storyverses - i.e. "Pay the Piper" and "EverFixed Mark." To the readers of both of these stories (and my others, most of which are part of the PtP story verse) I'm still very much writing all of these stories (and more, *evil grin*). I don't have much control over what my muse will allow me to write, so don't be upset with me for writing this instead of getting you your update. ;-) Hopefully, since the readers of all my stories love Jess (unless I'm gravely mistaken, and with a few exceptions), so this little jaunt into 'what makes Jess tick, and how did he get to be where/who he is,' won't be too much amiss. For those who may think that he's OOC here, what are you smoking? Oh, wait. Not diplomatic. Sorry. I do portray Jess tentatively coming to a conclusion that I didn't previously think he'd ever reach. I don't know if it's a point of controversy, or if it only was in my own head. And, I'm officially babbling now. I'll stop that and let you read.**_

_Waking From a Nightmare_

Jess had been staying with Jimmy, Sasha and Lily for over a week. Thankfully, he hadn't had to lick himself in order to convince Sasha that he deserved a place to crash for a little while just as much as any of the strays she took in. He just wished Jimmy hadn't seemed so reluctant even after Sasha said yes. He began to doubt the 'deserving' part. Sure, Jimmy had gotten the mattress out of the closet. Still. It took more than a mattress to make a person feel welcome. Oh well. It looked as if a mattress would have to do.

He couldn't exactly blame the guy. After all, he was just a two-bit loser who couldn't seem to figure himself out. Apple didn't fall far from the tree. Who was he to judge? Or complain, for that matter?

At least the mattress was set up in the room with all the books. So, things weren't all bad. The little girl still scared the stuffings out of him three or four times a day, sitting in unexpected hiding places with her book and her flashlight. He should have been able to relate to her. A kid hiding…reading. But, he couldn't make out what she was hiding from. This place was paradise compared to… Yeah, she didn't have a reason.

In the daytime, Jess spent most hours devouring his father's library. He didn't dare write in the margins, but the guy had some pretty great books. Thank goodness. He certainly couldn't trust himself with all this spare time on his hands and the ugly thoughts that followed him from Connecticut. He'd volunteered to help out at '_The Inferno' _both to keep his mind off things and to try and earn his keep for the short time it looked like he would be allowed to stay there. But, Jimmy seemed reluctant about that too, even after he assured him that he had plenty of experience in the food service industry. Somehow, that seemed to make the guy even more nervous. Oh well.

At night. Well. At night it was worse. He couldn't escape whether he slept or not. The stupid door to his non-room didn't close properly, and if he turned on a light it would shine right into Jimmy and Sasha's bedroom. They had a weird, nestish kinda thing made of pillows and comforters in a room that partially connected to the…he didn't even know what they called that part of the house. The whole thing was weird though. He wondered how on earth they got any needed privacy. Maybe they just went out on the beach. He hoped so. If not, he _really_ didn't want to stay here long. In any case, he couldn't turn on the light. That meant no reading. And, he couldn't very well blast music here. What he wouldn't give for a portable CD player and a set of ear buds! They might be uncomfortable to sleep with, but that was nothing to the discomfort he felt with nothing to occupy his mind and settle it for sleep.

If he couldn't sleep, the guilt over everything that had happened in the last few weeks would gnaw at his synapses until he was ready to scream. He replayed everything. The fight with Luke, the fiasco in Kyle's bedroom, the merry fisticuffs with Dean, the ultimatum of Principal Merton, the stolen car, the arguments with his boss to let him work more hours, the sleight of hand to convince Luke and everybody else that he was in class, the money that he'd saved up for the tux and the limo…the corsage even, that ended up going for his bus tickets and meals and…realizing he couldn't go back to Liz. She wasn't out of the stinkin' hospital yet. Those places could be hell, and he'd as good as put her there. Wouldn't Luke just _love_ to know that. He heard Liz tearfully begging him over the phone not to tell her brother where she was. She still thought it was the busybody in the next apartment that made the call. He wondered if he'd ever tell her. He hoped she was alright. He hoped to God she was alright.

If he slept, the nightmares were horrendous. Didn't seem to matter what they were about, it all whirled around Rory and Luke, somehow he always kept killing them, didn't matter what he did to try to prevent it, in the end, they were both dead, and it was all his fault. Either that or he would find himself back in New York, chewed up and spat out by the unending amusement park ride/horror flick that was the reality of living with Liz. Then there were the ones that kept scrolling through the seemingly unending index of step-fathers and pseudo step-fathers he'd gone through - the ones who completely ignored him, and the ones that beat the tar out of him because they hated him, and the ones that beat the tar out of him out of some sense of perverted obligation, the ones that confined themselves to verbal abuse, and the ones that beat her. On the worst nights, the nightmares combined all of these elements for a truly freakish experience. Liz would turn into Rory and he had to protect them both from the step-father that was sometimes himself, and sometimes Luke would come in and save the day, and wind up killing him, and other times he'd try to and Jess would wind up killing Luke. No matter how the nightmare went, it left him sweating bullets and with the need to vomit.

On this particular night, the nightmare was particularly gory. At the last violent flash of horror, he cried out, shuddering and awoke, his senses returning just enough to hope that his outcry hadn't woken anyone else up. As his eyes adjusted, something in the darkness moved and he nearly screamed again.

"Jess, it's just me, it's just me…" he heard Sasha's voice assuring him, though it did little to lessen the pounding of his heart or the gasping, gulping breaths of air that burned in his lungs. When he could speak, he yelled.

"_What in the freakin'-WHY ARE YOU SITTING THERE?"_ he demanded, fear and anger joining hands against the she-devil who would terrify the guts right out of his body.

"Shhhh-h!" she urged, clearly not wanting him to wake Jimmy and Lily.

"_Don't you SHUSH me! _You came about _THAT CLOSE_ to _sending me to an early grave, _and you want me to be _quiet?_" he asked incredulously.

"Jess, you're gonna wake the whole block!" she whispered urgently. He huffed out an irritated but relenting sigh. "Jess, are you alright?" she asked, softer this time. _What kind of a stupid question was that?_ His entire body was drenched in sweat, and he was shaking and had woken up screaming to be terrified all over again a second later, and she was asking if he was alright?

"Yeah, just great," he whispered breathlessly.

"Jess, I'm serious…you…" she sighed, obviously concerned, but not able to figure out how best to express it. Now that his eyes were adjusting to the light, he could see that she was half perched on Jimmy's desk, and had clearly been sitting there watching him. That, in itself was creepy enough. Though he guessed he could sort of understand. She probably had woken up hearing him thrashing around and came to check on him. It was still unnerving, though.

"Jess, I'm worried about you," she said finally.

"What?" He knew that plenty of people had worried about him, at least in the vaguest sense, his whole life, and in general, it irritated him, since almost nobody ever did anything about it, they just sat there and worried, and when they _did _do something about it, it generally only wound up making things worse. But, whether they took action or sat on their hands, almost nobody had the courage to come right out and tell him they were concerned.

"It seems like you're hurting…a lot." Her voice was tender, empathetic. He scoffed, with something of a derisive laugh released through lips and teeth and coming through the shadows in all the _devil-may-care you're-full-of-it _attitude Jess had perfected as a defense throughout his childhood and adolescence.

"You've had it rough," she said plainly.

"I don't _do_ pity, okay? So, you can just cut it out." His voice was cut-and-dry. No frills.

"I'm not giving you pity," she said, just as succinctly. She said it straight.

"Oh, _please_…"

"Don't give me that, and don't _look at me _like that. I don't say things I don't mean." Jess let out a soft breath and a raise of the eyebrows to let her know that he still wasn't buying it. _How would _she_ know?_ "You've had it rough," she stated again, unapologetically. "From what Jimmy has said, no offense, but your mom is _more_ than a little nuts, and that's _gotta_ be tough to grow up with, and _besides_, you're here now with no place to go at _seventeen_! All of those things say, you haven't had an easy life! It's left its mark on you." Jess shifted uncomfortably in the t-shirt he wore, suddenly acutely aware of all the scars hidden beneath it. "I don't mean literally," she added, and he shot her with an almost murderous glare. "It's left its mark on your mind, and it shows as plain as the nose on your face."

He looked away angrily, shifting on the mattress so he was leaning back on both arms, fuming at the ceiling. "Being angry at me for pointing out the obvious isn't going to accomplish anything." Jess bit his lips together. _You wanna see angry? 'Cause, I can_ show_ you angry! _"It's not gonna stop the nightmares you've been having, and you've had them every night since you got here." He let out a hot, heavy breath through his nostrils, jaws clenched. "And, it's not gonna stop the flashbacks, either."

This one caused the boy to flip over on the mattress, whirling to face her, sitting up, eyes wide. Suddenly he remembered something Jimmy had said. _You know, Sasha's always right. It drives me crazy. No matter what the situation, she's always right. I'd love to be right just once in awhile, you know? Do you know she called the Super Bowl five times in a row? Who does that? What is she, a witch? _Jess wasn't about to credit the supernatural, but he did begin to understand why Jimmy would say such a thing. Brows furrowed between his wide-open eyes. She laughed.

"You look just like Jimmy when you do that, and I'll tell you the same thing I always tell him. It's a mixed blessing, really. I don't want to know the things I know, but I just do. It's more of a curse, really. Sometimes I wish I _didn't_ see things in people that they don't want me to see." That one made sense to Jess. And, no, she wasn't a witch. She and Jess merely shared a 'mixed blessing.' He wondered why he hadn't read her as clearly. Then again, people usually couldn't read him. _Huh._

"You wanna get rid of the flashbacks, don't you?" she asked, her words jolting him out of his thoughts. "'Cause there's ways to do that, if you're willing to try them." He finally answered with something other than his eyes.

"I don't DO shrinks, if that's what you're implying." She shrugged.

"Your life, your choice," she said lightly. She started scraping fingernail polish off with her thumbnail, chipping away at it. They sat in silence for quite some time. Jess was irritated at himself for wishing she would speak. He didn't want to hear what she had to say, so why did he want her to talk? Aggravatingly, he didn't have a book within reach, and it was too dark to read anyway, and the silence was somehow droning, and he certainly wasn't going to break it. _Talk, why don't you? We both know you're not done! _

"It doesn't have to be this way, Jess. You _do_ know that, right? I mean, wouldn't life be easier if your brain didn't suddenly freeze up on you with life's worst nightmares on repeat, looping around again and again in your mental projector? Wouldn't that make life easier?" _Did I say talk? I meant, shut up! I know what you're driving at, and I don't need to hear it. I don't need to lay on a stupid couch and spill my guts out to know that I had a cruddy childhood. It won't solve anything, and it won't make anything go away. I DON'T need to be sitting in a psych ward next to my mom, thank-you-very-much! I'M fine! _He sighed in frustration.

"I've got a friend…" she began. _Yeah? So do I, thanks for sharing. Whether your friend is somebody 'just like me' or a head shrinker, I'd rather not be introduced, thanks. _"She's really good at what she does, and she's really easy to talk to." _Easy to talk to? I'm sorry, but have you MET me? 'Cause, if you 'get me' at all, then you know that the person doesn't EXIST_ _who's 'EASY for me to talk to.'_ He rolled his eyes.

"She could probably even recommend some medication that would-" He laughed at this outright. _Oh…right! The perfect solution! DRUGS! Now, why didn't I think of that? That's right, kids! When it comes to drugs, 'Just - say - no!'…unless of course, the pusher's wearing a nice white lab coat! Then they're the answer to…all your problems!_ The hypocrisy killed him. All he needed was to be put on some pills that would leave him leaning up against the wall, drooling, just like… His mind tried to shy away from the flashback, but it was too late. _Blast it, Sasha! If you know so much, then don't you know that I can't THINK ABOUT THINGS LIKE THIS?_ His fist slammed down into the mattress, and Sasha leaned forward, eyes intent.

"Are you okay, Jess?" _Sure! Just! Peachy! What kind of an idiotic question is that? _"Jess, it's okay, just breathe." _Breathe?_ "Slowly, in and out, come on." He started taking slow breaths. "And, don't zone out like that, you need to focus on something…something small, like a button or a…here, use this." She pulled a flower from where she had it sitting on a vase on Jimmy's desk, holding it a few feet in front of his face. "Focus your eyes here, and keep breathing." It was wacky, but he did it. _Breathe, in…out…in…out…look at the flower, just look at the flower…don't let your eyes cross…don't let it go fuzzy…in…out…in…out. _He felt the panic start to slip, and the palpitations calm, and his mind slowly started to return to the room and the present.

"How did you do that?" he asked softly. His doubts were starting to melt away, even as the panic had.

"I get panic attacks sometimes. My friend showed me how to work my way through them. She calls it cognitive behavioral therapy. It really helps. I didn't know if that was what you were going through, somehow it seemed more intense, so I didn't know if it would work, but I figured it was worth a shot." He stared at her, grateful but unable to say so. "It's no big deal. You learn some tricks. If you can share them, life's better for everybody." He let out something close to a laugh, and looked at the floor for a moment, head dipping down.

"You learned that from your friend, huh?" He couldn't believe he was asking her this. She _knew_ what he was asking. He knew she knew it.

"Yeah, she's pretty cool. We have a lot of fun together, and it's nice to know a shrink who's kinda willing to help you out so you don't have to go in the freaky office and feel like a lab rat or something. And, I hate to take advantage, but who can afford the sessions, really? I paint pictures for her office and she calls it even." She looked at Jess meaningfully, but without too much seriousness. She knew seriousness would scare him off. He was like a bird right now. "I could always paint some more. She wouldn't mind," she offered. He swallowed and his lips twitched in thoughtfulness, a frown crinkling his brow and his eyes on the ground where they couldn't be read.

"I'll think about it," he told her noncommittally. Sasha smiled at him, a warm smile. Very few people had ever smiled at Jess like that, and it was like a breath of springtime. He felt stupid thinking that. It was just a smile.

She pushed herself away from the desk, giving a small shrug, looking away from him and down at the carpet while she released a quick sigh. "Do whatever you want. Number's on the fridge. Post-it note," she chirped. She caught the concerned look on Jess' face. "It doesn't say doctor or anything like that. Her name's Stacy. Come to think of it, it's probably better I mention that. It's not the one that says Vladamir. That's the number for the take-out place that just opened up a little further up the strip. Guy I knew from high school works there. It's his cell actually. If you called there and asked for... This isn't helping. Give Stacy a call. She's cool. I promise." She gave in to what he could tell was an urge she'd felt for a couple of days at least, leaning forward and mussing his curls with her fingers in a teasing, affectionate fashion. "Get some sleep."

A lump formed in Jess' throat. Not once in all his growing up had his mother done such a thing…acted that way when saying goodnight. He knew instinctively, that's how a mother was supposed to act. That's… A sharp pain and an awful aching started in his chest, and he felt his shoulders curl inward. He looked up at the desk, where the little yellow flower sat, back in the vase where Sasha put it to cheer Jimmy up. He looked at it intently and breathed…in…and out…and in…and out.

_**A/N: *gives Jess a hug* Because if you can write him into any situation, surely you could write him into one where he'd accept a comforting hug, because you just can't help yourself, right? No? *sigh* Okay, okay. Keeping the poor boy in character even when I'm NOT writing anything at all at the moment. *grumble, grumble* **_

_**Anyhow, this is probably a one-shot…possibly a one-shot. There's definitely potential for follow-up, and there are even a few things I'd hoped to include here that just didn't fit, but I'm TRYING to stay focused on finishing up EverFixed Mark and getting back to Pay the Piper and Don't Go and House Rules. So…we'll see. Please, oh, please tell me what you think of this. You know reviews are my life and my breath and my blood! And now, I'll quite being so melodramatic and go clean my house. lol**_


	2. Shrunken Heads

_Chapter 2: Shrunken Heads_

_Cool_ wouldn't have been the descriptor Jess would have chosen for Stacy Bromowitz. Not unless it was followed by the qualifiers _calm_ and _collected. _She had dark hair and dark eyes, a lean face and an eerie, silent, unflappable demeanor. He would have guessed her age at about forty…a well-kept forty, but forty nonetheless. At a glance, Jess took her for a woman who had always wanted children, but had been too busy with her education and career to bother with a man, and so the time for children had come and gone…or so nearly so that it didn't make much difference. Like a lot of therapists, he would have guessed that she helped other people with their problems in order to convince herself that she didn't have any of her own…particularly that helping people filled up a void that she couldn't acknowledge without great pain.

His mouth twitched and he glanced at the floor, amused that he was analyzing the analyst. It was a distraction to allay his own nerves as he stood there watching her on the phone. She was already in mid-conversation when he walked in the door and a tiny, electronic bell announced his presence to her. She'd looked up, half-smiled a _please be patient with me-I've gotta take this_ kind of smile, and gestured to the same effect…that _hopefully_ she would just be a few moments. She spoke very little, but was actively _mmm-hmmm_ing every few seconds into the telephone.

The _wants children_ part came more from a perusal of the office…an open space with bright, natural murals all over the walls-he had to assume this was Sasha's work; and it was _very_ impressive. As he looked around, lips bitten to the side, taking this in, he couldn't help but wonder how she could possibly paint any _more_ "pictures" for the office. The walls were full. He wondered if this was any reflection on Sasha's mental health, and what sort of rate-of-exchange they had going. The mural was mostly landscape, a gradually changing panorama that spanned the ocean and beaches, deserts, prairies and glens melting into pine forests and redwoods, redwoods changing to skyscrapers and then suburban sprawl. Through it all were the playful, mostly laughing figures of children, faces bright - some peeking out from behind trees, others swimming, a couple were turning cartwheels, others somersaults, jumping rope, drawing, watching animals, reading… His eyes lingered on the figure of the girl sitting on a bridge with a fishing pole and a book. His chest tightened. It was her who'd finally gotten him to come here. He'd finally taken the post-it note from the fridge with shaking hands, a pulsing headache pounding in his brain, and made himself take the phone from the wall and dial the number. He'd taken deep breaths to try to calm the shaking and the hammering of his heartbeat as he clutched the phone to his chest and closed his eyes. He couldn't focus on anything, and the breathing wasn't helping. He couldn't sleep at night, so he'd slept well into the morning, only waking with the blast of a gun ringing in his ears, tremors taking his whole body.

Looking at the serene brown haired girl, dangling her feet into the ripples of the stream, the dream flashed vividly before his eyes. He was standing in the middle of the gazebo…but it was in New York, the roar of the traffic and the billion shops. She was standing there in front of them with eyes of ice. He opened his mouth to talk to her…to explain, but he had no tongue. An old woman had cut out his tongue. _Too many lies. Better that you don't speak. _And, now he couldn't. His throat couldn't utter a sound. She stared at him, mouth set in a hard line, determined that he should speak first. Finally she burst forth, voice shuddering with anger, "**Talk, Jess!**" His eyes grew wild as his mouth gasped and struggled to try to form words. He was a goldfish. His mouth would only open and close. "_**Talk!**_" His eyes plead with her. "_**I said, TALK!**_" He looked at her helplessly. "Fine," she said with quiet, determination, opening her backpack and pulling out a revolver. He stood frozen in place by her cold, cold eyes. She shot him point-blank in the face.

He had to make the call. A woman's voice answered…pleasant voice. "Yes?"

"Um…" His tongue worked now, even if it was choking a little and swallowing back the hitching and shaking as best it could. "Is this Stacy?"

"Yes," she replied calmly, "Yes it is." No more words came for the moment. Couldn't even open his mouth. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Um…" He bit his lips together and the choking at the back of his throat was _not_ helping matters. He tried to clear his throat, but his voice came out raspy…still sleep-ridden…among other things. "Sasha…" shallow breaths, "Sasha said I should call…uh…" He tried to breathe slower. "She s…sss…" This was really bad.

"I've had a couple of last-minute cancellations this afternoon. Would you like to come in and see me in a couple of hours?" A lightheadedness struck him, and he reached out to the handle of the refrigerator door to steady himself.

"Yes." It was the surest he'd heard a word from his own mouth in weeks, despite the swirling trepidation behind it.

She set the phone into it's cradle and he looked up suddenly at the _click_. She took a deep breath and smiled. "Sorry about that," she began. "Occupational hazard." He nodded with an almost-smile. "My name is Stacy Bromowitz," she said with a bright though reserved openness, extending her hand which he shook, finding it soft, though bony with a firm grip, "what's yours?"

"Jess Mariano." Her eyebrows raised a little at this.

"Any relation to Jimmy?" He could tell that the question wasn't so much to confirm the obvious, but rather to determine what sort of relation. Between the name and the face, blood relation was no question.

Jess' head dipped and he scraped his teeth along his lower lip, nodding. "His son." He could see that she tried not to let her eyebrows raise in surprise at this, but couldn't prevent the quick blinking as she took it in. She didn't compromise her professionalism, but behind the carefully monitored unchanging expression, Jess could see the concern as Sasha's friend.

"I didn't know Jimmy had any kids. Are you his only child?" She had a detached way of asking questions that would have put a less perceptive person completely at their ease. It would have been easier if Jess didn't see the casual inquiry as a subtle _let the session begin. _

He shrugged lightly with a casual nod. "That I know of." He watched her eyes drawing conclusions even as her features remained unmoved, as if this was all merely an exchange of pleasantries.

"So, have you come for a visit…to see your father?" she prompted, a bit more slowly than the other questions had been posed. Jess tipped a noncommittal, uninformative nod. Her expression gave away even less. "Well, it's wonderful that you can come and spend some time with him. Has it been a long time?…I mean, since you've seen him last?"

Jess' lips turned up slightly as if subtly amused. "You could say that." Jess knew that if any of this was going to benefit him, he would have to be more forthcoming at some point, but, for now, he was getting a feel for her. Besides, if she couldn't draw him out, then this whole endeavor was likely a waste of time.

"Where are you from?" Somehow this felt a little less like your usual, first acquaintance type question. Sure, it was completely normal to ask someone where they lived or where they grew up…just… She was a professional. She wasn't someone he had just met and was somehow actually talking to. She was a shrink. It was her job to pry him open like an oyster. He knew that if she got inside, she would find plenty of irritation, but no pearl. Jess could sense his mental heels digging in and his mouth tightened, the spark in his eye suddenly losing its luster.

"New York." He felt his jaws tighten. Somehow just the vocalization of the place did it…or rather, the non-vocalization of the specifics…the kinds of places he'd lived in New York, and where he'd lived since. All his muscles constricted a hair's breadth, as if on-the-ready for some threat and ready to be blamed for all his shortcomings.

"So…you live with your mother?" she inquired, her manner as if she was holding a clip-board and checking boxes yes or no. She held no clipboard. Her well manicured hands seemed perfectly capable of ease and unfettered smooth motion without any excuses…nothing to hold, no need to be folded together or loosely clasped in front or behind. Serene in a way that Jess could not understand.

"Lived," he corrected succinctly.

"You mean, you don't live there any more? Are you moving here permanently?" Stacy asked.

Jess looked off into the distance, over her shoulder, almost shaking his head, as if this were part of his reply. One shoulder raised in a portion of a shrug. "Not permanent. Haven't really settled on a destination. Haven't lived with my mom in over a year, though."

She nodded slowly, taking in the implications of his terse statements. "Where have you lived for the past year?"

He swallowed. "Mostly with my uncle in Connecticut." He could see her store the "mostly" for later.

"What made you decide to come here?" It seemed like such an innocuous question, not like something he'd been asking himself once or twice or three times in every mile, over the course of 2,994.8 miles.


End file.
